


History Lessons

by Su_Whisterfield



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Follow on from my previous story ‘You Have a History’Marvel made a right pig’s ear of the return of Wolverine after they killed him.What is fanfic for, if not to rectify their mistakes?
Relationships: Logan/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	History Lessons

According to Kätzchen, looking after someone who’s unconscious, vomiting and has a nose pouring out blood is not fun. I don’t remember any of it, I went down when Wolverine hit me and woke up in the infirmary back in Westchester, with everyone fussing.

Honestly, a broken nose and concussion is barely a paper cut by X-Men standards?

It doesn’t hurt, much, as long as I keep perfectly still, but moving brings back nausea, the lights too bright, everywhere too noisy. I keep glancing over at the door. In the proper scheme of things, about now he’d be there to collect me, take me away somewhere safe, somewhere dim and quiet. His room, my room, Ororo’s loft, the hill overlooking the lake, even a quiet booth in Harry’s, just somewhere I can hide for a while until I get my centre back. It really doesn’t matter where, just away. Where doesn’t matter because it’s _him_ I need. The smell of him, bike oil, stale cigar smoke, sweat. The steady hand on my shoulder or in the small of my back. 

Because Kurt’s always happy and centred and an ear to listen or a shoulder for everyone to lean on. And I like that role, really. But I’m only human, despite appearances to the contrary. And sometimes, I need someone to be strong for me.

Ororo‘s my rescuer in his absence, she takes me upstairs to the green, warm cavern of her loft, she knows the low dappled light is be much better for my pounding head, she knows I needed my privacy. She helps me undress, bending down is still a bad idea, and I‘m _embarrassed_ , by her seeing me like this. Which is just stupid, I’ve known her for as long as I’ve known Logan, but I hate her seeing me sick and shivering and weak.

It really doesn’t help my state of mind when, after pouring me into her bed, she sits stroking my hair until she thinks I‘m asleep. My thoughts keep running in dangerous circles for hours. I keep seeing his fist heading for my face, replaying over and over on a loop, but finally I tip over into an exhausted doze.

When I wake, morning light is starting to come through the green, she‘s spooned up against my back, on top of the sheets, warm and strong and gentle, her arms clasped about my chest. I am blessed that I have such a beautiful friend. And an ungrateful cur for just wanting to be away from this sanctuary, but she will want to talk about it and I just can’t, yet.

I slip from her embrace and into Logan’s worn yukata, still hung in her bathroom, I feel much better for a nights rest, no matter how broken, but the idea of struggling back into my soiled uniform really doesn’t appeal, neither does walking the halls naked. Teleporting will only reawaken my headache.  
Back in my own space, I have a very long, very hot shower, washing away the last traces of blood, sweat and vomit. I put the yukata back on, rather than my own bathrobe. The face in the mirror over the sink is stranger with two magnificent black eyes above a broken nose.

If he’s ruined my movie-star looks, I will kill him.

Aye, and there’s the rub. Wolverine is back amongst the living. My mental map shifts again, I feel vertigo as hope, fear, want and need all swirl around me.  
I am neither use nor ornament to anyone in this state.

I do have the courtesy to leave a note. I’m fine. I’ll be back soon. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Jean can find me in a moment, if she wants me.  
I head north in the oldest pickup, down the smallest roads.  
I‘m wearing one of his shirts, yes it’s huge on me, but like the yukata in Ororo’s bathroom, it’s a concrete, real link back to him and it’s what I need.

The image of his fist coming towards my face is still playing over, every time I shut my bloody eyes.

I can’t go that far, limited to half the fuel in the truck, at the moment I don’t dare stop for more gas, too much hatred going on. I just need to stretch my legs and put my head in order.  
Harriman State Park is only thirty miles away, I park in a quiet corner.

My head is aching again, and my face stiff and sore, sunglasses are not an option, I use my hat to shade my eyes, swallow a couple of Tylonol with water, lace up my ridiculously expensive custom boots and head out.  
I spent the first eighteen years of my life constantly moving, walking is a meditation for me.

The Park is quiet on a week day in term time, one or two dog walkers and joggers but mostly there‘s just me and the birds and insects and quiet.

My best friend is back from the dead, I‘m so happy, relieved, the knot in my chest easing, he might not have recognised me, he might be lost to us, at least for now, but he‘s here, on this mortal plane.

So conflicted. In one way I had been _glad_ Logan was gone. My fine, higher, noble self said that was because he was no longer in pain, no longer fighting his demons. The darker side of me knows the truth, I was relieved because my biggest weak spot was gone. Yes, he was my support but I shouldn’t have let him be. He‘s a mass murder, steeped in blood, what did it say about me and my high lofty morals? That I turn a blind eye, again and again, so I could lean on his strength when I was weak. That I turn my head and look away. Worse, I turn my head into his embrace in order not see the bodies of those he had killed. Some he had killed for me.

I climb up and up, the boots are new, I’m still breaking them in. I was dead for a while myself and most of my stuff has gone, not the important things, my blades, my books, my rosary and bible; my friends had kept them safe but the mundane, like walking boots, they’d not kept. Which, of course, is why finding out that Logan is back amongst the living isn’t that big of a surprise.  
The view from the top of the buff is worth the hike. Beautiful. There’s still a lot of America which is still unspoilt, if you know where to look. I love cities, dynamic, chaotic, ever interesting. But, sometimes, when I need to think, I need the peace and solitude of the trees, the hills, the open sky.  
And I need him. The mass murder. The invincible killing machine I have a sexual relationship with. My feet dangle over the edge of the precipice, of course, heights mean nothing to me. A flyer can’t have vertigo.

**Kurt!** Jean’s voice is loud in my head, her fiery face floating in front of me over the canyon, it reminds me of Rachel.  
**Hiya** I smile at her. Someone else who loves Logan. Like me. Like Ororo. There’s a lot of it about.  
**There you are!** her astral face scowls, I feel a wash of irritation, relief, love from her. **What are you doing? Are you okay?**  
**I‘m fine, I just...**  
The irritation overtakes the other emotions. **We were so worried! Head injury! You should be resting, not driving across half the county!**  
I hang my head, the headache pounding in rhythm with her words.  
**I‘m sorry.**  
**So you should be!** her astral hand reaches out towards me. **Oh, Kurt, we were _worried_ about you.**  
**I’ll come back soon.**  
**Oh, you bet you will, Ororo’s on her way, she’ll be with you in a minute or two.**  
I can see clouds on the horizon. Oh-oh.  
**Ah, that’s not necessary, Jean.**  
Amusement comes across her link with me. **Do you think I was going to argue with her? I’ll face your anger at being mothered by us over her fury any day of the week.**  
The clouds are getting closer, I’m in for a drenching.

*******

“Idiot. Absolute idiot man.” I crunch through the gears on the pickup, Kurt flinches in sympathy with the abused metal. Logan would have words with me for abusing one of his precious engines. Heavy clouds hide the sun.  
“I’m sorry.” He says again. He looks like absolute shit, his face grey and he flinches with every pothole in the road. Though road is a bit of an exaggeration for the dirt track away from Harriman Park. Idiot. Complete idiot.  
“You could have collapsed, could have fallen, could have...” Scenarios dance in front of my eyes, none of them good. Stupid, stupid man.  
“Ororo,“ he touches my arm, those beautiful, unique hands.  
It stops my mental tirade. And I stop the truck. I draw a relieved breath.  
“You’re an utter...”  
“I know I am. Please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed some space.”  
I turns to face him, reach across and cup his cheek. “I was so worried, beloved. When I woke, I thought you had just gone back to your rooms, I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough...” I sigh. “You are precious to me, Kurt, to us. Please, never forget that.” Those soft, gentle eyes. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”  
“He’s back.” He bows his head, his voice sounds thin and flat. He’s back but he didn’t know us. Me. Jean.  
“I know.” It’s not only me who loves him.  
And now Jean is here with us too, Kurt and I might just be footnotes. Not that I’d wish Jean away, for anything, for anyone, even him. I have few truly deep friends, and she’s the nearest thing I have to a sister. There’s a synergy, a connection between her and Kurt too, they view the world, people, in the same way, they’re very close.  
Damn you, Logan. Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d stayed dead? Too many emotions churn in me.

“Why am I still alive, Ororo?“  
“Oh, Beloved,” we embrace, hold each other close, hold each other together. The answer is so obvious. “You’re alive because he pulled the punch. Sheathed the claws. You’re alive because, on some level, somehow, he knew it was you.“ I kiss his forehead. “And he loved you. He still does.”  
The rain hits the roof of the pickup and covers the sound of his sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> Media, of all type, has a very simple, very linear view of relationships and love. 57 years of experience has taught me that love and relationships are so much more subtle and nuanced.  
> Here’s a brief angsty look at the much hyped Return of Wolverine.
> 
> Recap: in the comic Wolverine punches Kurt in the face and doesn’t recognise Ororo and Jean when they first meet him after his resurrection. But he does retract the claws...  
> Plus the afterlife is a complete revolving door to the X-Men, even before Krakoa, it can’t be that much of a surprise that he’s back.


End file.
